


Lighter Fluid

by dexterous



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Andrew has impeccable aim, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Nicky may be on the receiving end of Andrew's projectile, Pain, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexterous/pseuds/dexterous
Summary: The click of a lighter sounds like the final nail in Neil's overdue coffin.It’s only been a few weeks since the last game of the season and only a month since Neil kissed Death on her cold, cracked lips. He found fear tastes a lot like rotten meat, the kind that lingers in worn clothing and clean silverware drawers.





	Lighter Fluid

“Or,” drawls Andrew, “You could leave.”

Nicky forcefully swallows once. Twice. Glances at Neil in a Hail Mary, is met with a bored expression, then turns his pained smile back to Andrew. He’s looking for a fishing boat in the Dead Sea and even Nicky knows it’s impossible.

“You know,” Nicky contends, slowly standing, arms raised in a passive motion, “I _just_ realized I actually do have to get going to… uh, you know… do – I mean, uh. Masturbate! Yeah, yeah. Catch you guys later!” 

With more self-preservation than Neil has ever shown in his entire life, Nicky skitters out of their bedroom. In his rush, he knocks over an empty water bottle and nearly smacks his head on the side of the doorframe. Both boys hear a dull crash in the living room before the telltale sound of their dorm room door closing, leaving them alone in the apartment for likely the rest of the night.

With Kevin getting acquainted with Coach this summer, Aaron spending most of his days with Katelyn, and Nicky getting booted out by Andrew's irritation every other day, an empty dorm room was becoming a common occurrence.

Neil turns back to his history textbook on his spot on the floor and flips another page.

 “You didn’t have to scare him away,” he sighs.

Neil didn’t mind Nicky. He was a nice distraction. It’s only been a few weeks since the final game of the season and only a month since Neil kissed Death on her cold, cracked lips. He found fear tastes a lot like rotten meat, the kind that lingers in worn clothing and clean silverware drawers.

But moving on from screaming raw in an unknown car to yelling in triumph over a winning title has been… anti-climatic. Neil can finally breathe this summer, can stay in the dorms with Andrew and a few leftover Foxes. He can catch up on summer classes and apply for summer jobs and lazily kiss Andrew on the roof and in their beds and in their car.

More importantly, for the first time since he can remember, Neil is safe. He's home. He has a future. So why does every waking moment feel like he is walking in slow motion through a sea of endless mud? He's finding himself falling asleep in odd places at odd times and when Neil is awake, he loses little pockets of time in small distractions or blank gazes. 

Two weeks ago, Neil was carefully woken up outside a store's changing room during a shopping trip with the upperclassmen. Matt pulled him aside and awkwardly said something about Neil’s mind likely catching up to his traumatic experiences. Then Matt patted his shoulder, concern battling pity on his face, _“You can always talk to me”._  

Neil nodded for Matt’s sake but closed his eyes on the car ride home.

Practically, Neil knows that “processing his experiences” _should_ take the form of nightmares and panic attacks. He _should_ feel fear logged in the back of his throat, her fingers wrapped around his jaw, lingering rotten meat, run, escape, run, get out, _run._ But instead, Neil sleeps soundly and blinks slowly and is distracted easily and sleeps and sleeps.

Andrew has noticed the small changes and Neil notices Andrew notice. Sometimes Neil’s head gets so heavy he sighs a small,  _“Yes or no?”._ At Andrew’s slight nod, curly auburn hair rests lightly on a strong shoulder and he lets his mind drift at sea. Andrew notices when Neil sleeps in instead of runs or practices at the field. He doesn’t get irritated at Kevin’s nitpicking or Nicky’s flirting. Last week Aaron rudely said something mildly targeted towards their blooming relationship – a comment that would have gotten a typical temper-filled response three months ago – but Neil didn’t even bat his eyes.

At night, Andrew catches Neil staring distantly at the cracked stresses in the ceiling for several minutes that to Neil feels like several hours. Sometimes Andrew distracts him with a brush of lips or a flick to his forehead. Sometimes he lets him be.

Now, Andrew’s eyes are narrowed and his lip curled.

“You’ve been reading the same page for 25 minutes and Nicky was going on about whether you can consider Elon Musk hot.”

“You can,” Neil mutters, resting his forehead facedown on the floor below his book. Arms stretched over his head, he belatedly realizes he probably looks like a dead body floating in a river.

“He’s elitist,” Andrew shoots back from his perch on his bed.

“He can still be –“

A sandal collides with the back of Neil’s bowed head.

“Ouch.” He deadpans.

“Do your fucking work.”

Neil sighs, mutters something about strong jawbones and begrudgingly lifts his head to rest under his arms so he can properly read. For the past three hours Neil has been catching up on classwork he missed when he was... you know, getting tortured.

Neil stares at his textbook and Andrew stares at him. When Neil’s eyes start to close or wander, Andrew snaps his fingers once and glares until all of Neil’s attention is back on the work in front of him. Neil knows he needs a passing grade to stay in college and therefore stay on the team but these days, with most of the Foxes gone and the summer heat creeping in, he can’t seem to focus, much less care.

Andrew, on the other hand, is dead set on Neil staying alive and that requires at least a C in American History. 

_The undertaking of the Japanese mainland was preceded by a conventional and firebombing campaign that devastated 67 cities and thousands of…_

Neil sighs again and turns his face to rest cheek-down to look up at Andrew. Andrew stares unimpressed at Neil’s obvious beg for a fast, painless death and gets up to open the window behind Neil’s stretched-out body.

There’s some rustling around, a creak of a chair being brought over to the sill. Neil looks back down.

_… dropped a uranium gun-type bomb, effectively and immediately devastating their targets and the lives of –_

Click. Click. Clickkk.

Neil chokes on his next breath. He doesn’t hear the sound he makes through the sudden, unbearable pain that jackknifes through his hands – no his face – no his hands, the beds of his nails, his knuckles, his wrists.

A keening noise filters through the rushing in his ears and Neil curls his body in on itself as he cradles his sweltering arms. He smells rotten meat. He’s _burning._

There's leather underneath his cheek and fire makes a home in his skin. Neil is in the backseat of a car and the smell of ash and sizzling flesh almost overpowers the sound of screaming – no, laughing – no, _screaming_.

Neil’s eyes squeeze shut and he feels hot iron, wait, that’s fire – no, it’s a knife – slicing into his hands.

In one sudden moment, Lola grabs his face in a forceful grip and Neil flinches so hard he hits the back of his head into the bed frame – no, that's the seat – behind him.

The hands disappear only to reappear in the form of a powerful body pressing over him. Lola pushes his shoulders into the leather and digs her knee over Neil’s stomach to straddle him, hold him down.

“Stop,” She stresses, but her clipped word cuts through the fog of pain in Neil's mind, causing his panic to flare stronger, to struggle harder.

He kicks out his legs and rips his arms up to dislocate her, then _scratch scratch scratches_ at his burning face, presses nails into his sizzling forearms. 

Lola takes his wrists and drags them over his head so he’s uncurled, flat on his back, and _vulnerable_.

“Get – _get off._ Don’t t-touch me,” Neil chokes out through hyperventilated gasps.

There’s a rock lodged in his throat, sitting on his lungs. He tries dislodging Lola once more with a last ditch twist of his body but she’s an unmovable force on his hips and he can nearly taste the next round of pain she’ll inflict on him in mere seconds. Fear digs her fingers in his mind and panic gets stuck on the roof of his tongue. 

“Neil.” She sounds like she’s in pain.

“Stop,  _please, please, plea –_ ”

Nails that aren’t his own dig deeper into Neil’s wrists, cutting off his begging in a sharp intake as he’s pushed further into the floo– backseat.

The pain in his hands shoot up his forearms and Neil’s next breath is a choked gasp as tears leak from the corners of his closed eyes.

Lola leans in as her free hand forcefully turns his face to hers. A broken sound worms its way out of his throat but before he can offer one last plea of mercy, she covers his mouth … with hers.

Dry lips move slowly but determinedly over his, successfully cutting off his air supply and driving the panic in his chest to sizzle and die. Neil’s shock and confusion leaves him limp and pliant.

Through the fogged mess in his mind, he weakly rationalizes,  _Lola wouldn’t… do this._

Neil’s senses, previously clogged and muted, return slowly. He can feel the sharp sting of rug burn on his back and side from his shirt that was hitched up during his struggle. The back of Neil’s head throbs faintly where he hit the bed frame to his left, and Neil can distinctly feel his overturned history book poking him in the shoulder.

Most notably, like flipping a switch, the overriding, unbearable pain in his face and hands are gone. He cracks his blurry eyes open.

Andrew’s hard gaze – not Lola’s – are meeting his with conflicting emotions. Neil can pick out anger and stiff fear before Andrew pulls away. He doesn’t remove his grip on Neil’s wrists and only leans back far enough for Neil to take deep, shuddering breaths.

“Where are you,” It’s more of a statement than a question but after another moment of rattling breaths, Neil answers anyway.

“Our d-dorm room,” His voice sounds like it’s been shredded raw in a blender.

“Who am I,” The intense look in Andrew’s eyes doesn’t waver.

“Andrew.” Neil whispers.

Andrew’s sharp gaze softens faintly in what Neil vaguely recognizes as relief and he slowly releases his bruising grip on Neil’s wrists before carefully rolling off his hips.

Neil takes a moment to breathe and shove his irrational, lingering hysteria aside. _She's dead._ _I am safe. I am home._

He blearily takes in the overthrown chair in front of him alongside the dashboard lighter and pack of cigarettes haphazardly dropped by the windowsill. Clarity battles confusion and at last he hears the final puzzle piece _click click clicking_ together.

Andrew is still looking at him when Neil drags his swollen eyes to meet his. Guilt tastes like ozone.

“I’m sor – “

“Shut the fuck up.” Andrew cuts him off. His eyes are an intense mixture of rolling thunderclouds. “You were tortured, Neil. For hours. You’ve been on Death Row your entire life. You nearly died twice in the past three months. It’s about time you fucking acted like it. Can you stand?”

Neil swallows and gives a small nod but when he pulls himself up to a sitting position, a wave of vertigo washes over and black spots invade his vision. A body presses along Neil's side, taking the majority of his weight before he slumps forward and Andrew heaves him up the rest of the way.

He’s led to the bottom bunk and lowered before Neil lets out another breath and curls his body inwards, his back facing the wall. His head is throbbing. Andrew stands above the bed and remains still. 

From this angle, the top bunk blocks most of Andrew's figure. Neil can only blearily see his hands flexing into fists, releasing, flexing back, before Andrew takes a step towards their closed bedroom door.

A flash of irrational alarm cuts into his heart and Neil reaches out an aborted hand to grasp Andrew’s sleeve before he even realizes he moved.

“Stay,” his voice is a broken whisper, his grip limp and weak, but Andrew freezes anyway. 

He turns back and stiffly settles next to Neil’s worn-out form but remains a few inches from touching him. Neil is exhausted and wants nothing more than to lay his head on Andrew’s chest and succumb to the deep throws of unconsciousness but after another minute of slow breathing, Andrew’s tense body remains drawn tight.   

“Andrew,”

His sharp gaze meets Neil’s questioning look.

“You told me to get off,” Andrew forces out. His voice is pained but his eyes remain hard and searching, “You begged me not to touch you.”

Sharply, Neil is brought back to bloody sheets and hysterical giggles. It takes every ounce of willpower for Neil to meet Andrew’s eyes. Ozone licks his lips.

“I thought you were Lola,” Neil whispers, “It felt like I was being tortured again, like I was back in that car – my hands and my face. I knew it wasn’t real when you kissed me.” _You did the right thing. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

Andrew doesn’t respond but he hears the words not spoken and his tense form eases slightly. They lay untouching side-by-side for a while longer as Neil succumbs to the heaviness in his eyelids.

A few moments pass and Neil feels the slight brush of Andrew’s tentative hand across his hair. Eyes still closed, Neil whispers a soft, desperate, “Yes.” 

* * *

Neil wakes to his face smushed between the junction of Andrew’s neck and shoulder. His arm is thrown over Andrew’s chest and Neil feels Andrew's soft rise and fall of his heart beneath him. Despite the itch in his throat and slight throb in his head, Neil hums contently.

Against the tired voice in his head nudging him to fall back under the waves of slumber, Neil slowly disentangles their limbs.

He brushes his teeth, splashes cold water over his face, and cautiously meets his father's cool blue eyes. He has some scratches next to his still-healing cheek, thin lines of red next to a sea of burnt flesh. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced than usual but the everlasting tiredness that’s been following Neil around for weeks like a stray dog is… quiet. He feels more awake, more present.

Maybe Andrew saw this coming all along. Maybe he knew Neil was the walking definition of the calm before the storm. All that sleeping and staring and sighing was a prelude to something disastrous and all-consuming. And now that the soda bottle has been shaken, shaken, shaken, exploded, and dissolved, Neil... doesn't know what happens next.

“Catch,” An object is tossed to Neil the second he emerges from the bathroom. He catches it with ease and looks down. His cellphone.

Neil meets Andrew’s bored expression with a questioning look.

“It’s got Betsy’s number in there. Speed dial 2. You have an appointment in 30 minutes.”

Neil scowls.

“Shut the fuck up and take a shower. Even Nicky sees Bee and you’re more fucked up than he is.” Andrew turns and heads to the kitchen without a second glance.

Neil distantly realizes he should be mildly offended and highly annoyed but for the life of him couldn’t argue Andrew’s extremely valid point. He's more irritated that it makes sense. So Neil trails after him into the small kitchen and finds Andrew glaring at the coffeemaker to go faster. Neil pulls up next to him.

“Cream and two –“

“Two sugars,” Andrew finishes, “I know. Take a shower, you fucking reek.”

Neil lets out a small smile and doesn't move. When Andrew finally turns to meets his eyes, Neil leans over and catches his lips in a long, soft kiss. Andrew sighs into his mouth. Love tastes like coffee.

When they break apart Neil lightly rests his head on Andrew’s shoulder before whispering softly, “Thank you.”

* * *

Months later, when all the Foxes are home and a little tipsy from their happy hour reunion, they gather in Neil’s dorm room to recount their summer adventures.

After finding out Dan volunteered all summer alongside her part-time job at a daycare, the team rags on her for being "boringggg" and “too wholesome to be a Fox”. 

In a moment of rebellion and lighthearted defiance, Dan asks Andrew to bum a smoke.

He deadpans, “I quit.” 

“What?!” Nicky cries, “First cracker dust and now smokes? What are we - virgins?”

Neil doesn’t see the shoe that sails across the room and nails Nicky pointblank in the face, nor does he notice the following _thud_ on the floorboards or Nicky’s groans of pain. But Neil doesn’t miss the deadly glare Andrew gives the remaining Foxes, daring someone to say something else about the matter. No one does.

Instead, Matt hides half his face and muffles a barely concealed snort at Nicky’s misfortune, and after a moment of tense silence, the rest of the team whoops in booming laughter. Andrew looks more annoyed about his failed attempt at murder-by-shoe than the resounding laughter of his teammates.

And after several minutes of his team cackling at Nicky’s expense, Neil catches Andrew's eye and releases a small smile too… but for a different reason. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! This is my first published work so let me know what you think xx
> 
> Edit: Oh my goodness, thank you all for your amazing words of support and love! I must have reread every comment several times now and each time I'm grinning like an idiot. Love you all xx


End file.
